Reaper's Claim Book 3

REAPER

Everyone in the room waited for Abby to speak.

A ferocity raged behind her eyes like fire.

Please be smart, Abby. Come on, please. I begged.

For me. For you. For the baby. Please.

And then, quickly, the flames were put out. And her face fell.

And in a small voice, to that fucker Liam, she said, “I’m sorry, Liam, but I think I need to be with my family right now.”

I knew she felt bad, but why’d she have to sound so upset?

Hey, at least she picked us. I reminded myself, before I got too angry.

Liam nodded

Farewell, sucker. I thought.

Get the fuck outta our lives. And stay out.

Sometimes I cringed at the things I said in my head.

By the time the doctors released Abby a few hours later, with a fuckton of meds and stuff, we were all pretty hungry, so we hit up a family-style restaurant nearby.

When Roach told the hostess “Table for five,” I couldn’t help thinking about how it would soon be, “Table for six.”

Or, table for three, when it was just Abby, me, and the little peanut.

Oh my God, what the hell is happening to me?

I never acted so warm and fuzzy about anything. This pregnancy was going to turn me to fucking mush.

“So,” started Dad, when we were all settled. “What kind of parents do you two think you’ll be?”

“What does that even mean?” Abby asked tensely.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I just...sorry, I mean what are you thinking for...for the baby?”

He kept on. “We can turn one the rooms at HQ into a nursery. Or are you looking to get your own place? There might be more preschools up in Blaine county, but that isn’t too far away...” Roach kept on.

I tried to keep up, picturing Abby and me at a school board meeting, organizing a bake sale or some shit. Or at a museum with fanny packs and those little portable fans.

Yeah, that was a no.

I glanced at Abby, who looked seconds from a full-out panic attack. She was clearly not going to answer, so I guessed it was up to me.

Was there a right answer? “Uh, maybe stick around HQ for a bit?”

Roach nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. That’s good. We can all help out while you two get adjusted to parenthood. And after, too. However long you want to be home is fine by me.”

“You know,” I said, readying myself to go out on a limb. “I think we have the potential to be pretty great… Or at least decent… Parents.”

Again, I looked at Abby hesitantly to check in.

She glared off into the distance, her mouth twisted down into a grimace; in a whole different world. “What do you know about that, Kade?”

Of course, the waitress fucking popped up right then. She’d overheard us talking.

“Oh my gosh, new parents?!” she chirped. “Congratulations!”

I was about to thank her, but Abby beat me.

“For what?” she shrieked, loud enough to turn heads. “For getting knocked up by accident? What part of that is an accomplishment worthy of congratulations?!”

And with that, Abby stormed off.

“Kim, can you…?” I began.

“Already on it,” she said, standing and dashing out after Abby.

I sighed, suddenly alone with Roach and extra self-aware.

Just me and my President, the soon-to-be grandfather to my child. Pretty much the only male role model in my whole life.

We sat across from each other in awkward silence.

All I wanted to do was impress him, to prove that I was capable of taking care of his daughter’s baby.

“Uh… Breadstick?” I offered.

He stared back, mouth open.

Clearly, I was off to a fucking awesome start.

Way too quick, Kim returned with an expression on her face I’d seen a couple times before. Especially when she was dealing with her sister at her worst.

Disappointed and exasperated, but hardly surprised.

She didn’t even have to tell me.

“Abby wasn’t there, was she?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Nope.”

ABBY

I marched past the washroom, right out the front doors. I needed to be alone and knew Kim would follow me anywhere else.

Also, I needed a cigarette.

I was approaching a grouchy old man puffing away on a bench, about to bum a smoke, when it dawned on me.

Wait… Pregnant women aren’t supposed to smoke, are they?

Oh God, could this get any worse?

Just then, my phone vibrated multiple times in a row in my back pocket.

Bzzz. Bzzzz.

Texts from Liam littered my screen. I opened them, welcoming the distraction.

He was waiting for me?

Damn.

I had a feeling Liam would always be waiting for me.

As I read back over the conversation, my eyes snagged on one text specifically.

U trust me don’t u??

To say I trusted Liam was an understatement.

Our last interaction involved him risking everything to try and save me. Risking his life—and then almost losing it when Damon caught him.

The terrible, harrowing image was still—and forever would be—seared into my brain.

Of evil, psychopathic Damon beating the living hell out of kind, defenseless Liam.

Punch after punch to his face. Kicks to his gut.

Liam curling into the fetal position on the newly blood-soaked cement.

His purple and blue bruises hardly noticeable under all that blood.

So much of it. Everywhere.

I could do this for Liam, I decided.

After what he did for me, I could make this short detour of a trip for him.

***

Liam pulled up to the curb, I hopped in before anyone could see me, and we sped off for Hellbound headquarters.

Smooth and seamless, like we’d rehearsed my getaway.

Now that I got a closer look at him, I observed the murky bruises still staining his skin; hiding under his natural rosiness and peeking out from his collar.

Whoever had patched him up had done an expert job at sealing up all the cuts. But even so, the boy would carry scars till the day he died.

On the ride back, he tried to chat, but I turned up the radio instead.

We made it back, and I prepared myself to confront Blake.

Okay, Abby, stay cool.

Confident. Fierce. Ambitious. Or, cut-throat.

Those were the attitudes that won Blake over. Anything less, and you were dubbed weak. You became immediate prey.

I took a deep breath, rolled back my shoulders, and strode, chin held high, into the room. Into Blake’s plushy parlor, all velvet and leather.

Compared to the rest of the house, which was in shambles, you could tell that this was where Hellbound put their money.

Here, and toward all the drugs, booze, and weapons, of course.

Blake sat behind his massive mahogany desk, smoking a cigar. As always, he was dressed to the nines in a sharp, crisp suit.

With the smoke billowing in circles around his head, he looked like a proper gangster.

Without missing a beat, I looked him square in the eyes and said, “Well, go ahead, Blake. Tear me apart.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“For, you know, killing Damon,” I said. “Does that jog your memory or are you still in denial?”

“Oh. I’m hardly displeased about that.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

Unable to restrain myself, I gasped, “Wait, seriously?”

“Quite honestly, I’d been really worried about Damon’s…steadily decreasing attachment to reality,” Blake explained.

“He was becoming an internal threat—a danger to the collective mission. Before you pulled the trigger, Abby, I was considering killing him soon myself.”

I gaped. I was at a loss for words, attempting to regain my composure. “No way.”

“It’s true,” Blake continued. “Once again, you only made my job easier.”

“Once again?” I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. “I’ve been helpless and useless to Hellbound from day one. I’ve caused nothing but trouble.”

“Now that is not true.”

Blake stood and strode around his desk to the chaise by the fireplace. He gestured for me to sit, and when I did, he took his own place in the armchair across from me.

“I recognize potential in you, Abby, and I do not say that to just anyone. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you. I mean, I know I’m a fine shot in theory. Like, in shooting ranges. But out in the real world—”

He shook his head and leaned back, effectively cutting me off without a single word.

“What I see goes beyond sheer shooting skills, which, yes, you have. What I’m talking about is your intelligence, Abby.

“Your cunning nature,” he continued. “Your ability to think on your feet and make fast, active choices.”

“All I do is think about myself,” I confessed.

“Which is what you have to do to survive—and get ahead,” Blake sighed.

“Someone like Liam, for example, is doomed to eternal assistantship,” he went on. “He’ll do what I say. He’ll follow the rules. But he’ll never be a partner.”

Was I misinterpreting what he was saying?

Or did Blake really place me at a higher level? A higher capacity?

On the same playing field as himself, even?

With…partner potential?

Loyal to Liam, if only as friends, I kept quiet.

Blake registered this and nodded respectfully. Maybe some type of understanding existed between us, after all.

An understanding I was uncertain about.

I had witnessed Blake do shitty things, like holding my own sister hostage.

Nothing as openly heinous as Damon’s actions, but still: could I put that history behind me? Could I forgive him?

Blake didn’t hurt people. He pulled the strings on the puppets that did.

Was that a potential I wanted to fulfill?

“Plus,” he said, sensing my discomfort and preparing to change the subject and tone, “you may not think it, but your presence does boost morale. These hypermasculine thugs quite enjoy having a woman’s energy around.”

Now that made me laugh. “If you’re referring to hormones, I can assure you, Blake, it’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“I see.” Blake gazed off, processing this. “Are you considering other…” He unfolded his clasped hands, palms up. “Options?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said in earnest.

I found the fact that he even thought to ask respectful. It was more than my fucking family did.

He nodded. “Well, whatever your decision, we can devise a plan for you, Abby. A trajectory, if you will. Stick around, and you may very well work your way up the Hellbound ranks.”

Damn. Heavy offer.

“It’s your call,” said Blake. “Just don’t throw away your potential.”